


Our Lives (the last chapter)

by KatieKat1321 (Koreabookitty)



Series: Our Lives - Markson [2]
Category: GOT7
Genre: Angst, Character Death, Friendship/Love, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Love Confessions, M/M, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide Attempt, Supernatural Elements, Trigger Warnings, but with an arguably happy ending?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-11
Updated: 2019-02-11
Packaged: 2019-10-26 00:23:47
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,049
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17735486
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Koreabookitty/pseuds/KatieKat1321
Summary: This is what was meant to be the last chapter of my Markson story  "Our Lives".  **However it can be read as a stand alone**I had written this first as part of a class assignment for a creative writing course and then I was writing the chapters leading up to this finale. However, I haven't really read or written Markson or GOT7 fanfics in general in a very long time (save for a few stories that have been on-going for a long time). But I felt bad not ever posting the ending because I liked it a lot. So I figured that I might as well just post it. So I apologize for leaving "Our Lives" at such a pivotal point, but I have lost my motivation to write it and I don't have all the plot points written down anymore. But I hope you can enjoy this story, even though it is very angsty and sad.





	Our Lives (the last chapter)

Mark knew he needed to sleep, he felt his eyelids becoming too heavy to keep open. He refused to just give in and sleep though, he couldn’t. The darkest memories always came when he was trying to rest. The last thing he thought before realizing he had no choice in the matter, that six days without sleep was too much for his body, was that he’d at least get to see him again. 

As soon as his eyes shut he was sitting there in that room, that cold, white, heartbreaking doctor’s office with Jackson next to him. He watched the younger male bounce his leg, a nervous tick he picked up while waiting on the bench for his fencing matches.  
Mark placed a hand on Jackson’s thigh to calm him, “I’m sure it’s nothing,” Mark lied. Jackson forced a small smile and squeezed Mark’s hand. A voice was screaming in his head to run out of the hospital, to wake up out of this nightmare. The voice was cut off mid-plea by the doctor walking in.

“Hello, I’m Doctor Park. You must be Mark, I’m glad you were able to come down on such short notice. It is usually best to have someone for emotional support in these types of situations,” the doctor said, shaking Mark’s hand before sitting in his desk chair and opening Jackson’s file. Mark’s eyes grew wide. He couldn’t bring himself to speak so he simply nodded. The doctor then turned his attention to Jackson, “We found the cause of your chest pain. The MRI your coach requested revealed an abnormality, a series of small tumors on your lung.” Jackson’s face paled at the doctor’s words. Mark squeezed his leg as Doctor Park continued, “Really, the tumors are still quite small, I’m shocked the technician even noticed it.”

After going over what exactly this meant for Jackson the three of them discussed what the options were. A biopsy was done that day. A few days later Mark and Jackson found themselves in that same plain doctor’s office when the results came back a few days later. It was cancer. The doctor wanted to operate soon, before the cancer got a chance to grow and spread, but that meant Jackson would need a month or two to recover. 

“I have Nationals coming up in a few months though! I need to be able to practice, I can’t afford to sit out for a couple months,” Jackson said. He had always been stubborn, especially when it came to fencing, “You said it was really early on right? Can’t we wait to do the surgery, please?”

The doctor looked at the nineteen-year-old and saw how worried he was, but he also saw the passion Jackson felt towards the competition. The voice in Mark’s head pleaded for him to wake up again, or at least take control of the dream and make it go the way it should have back then. The doctor sighed and said, “I suppose it could be put off for a bit, but you’ll need to come in every other week so we can see if the cancer is progressing, and try not to overdo it. The stress will only make it worse.”

Mark’s mind started jumping scenes. He saw Jackson practicing too hard for Nationals. Jackson staying up late into the night with him as they tried to finish up assignments. Jackson skipping his first set appointment because he didn’t want to skip practice, said he needed to be there, one time wouldn’t kill him. He saw Jackson’s twentieth birthday where he struggled to blow out the candles on the cupcake Mark got him without coughing. Jackson skipping more check-ups. The two of them watching horror movies in a blanket forte, like they did when they were little. Jackson in his fencing gear, saber pointed in the air as he threw off his helmet. He had won gold at Nationals, but while trying to let out a victory scream started coughing. He coughed so hard he fell to the floor, clutching his chest as blood fell from his lips.

While Jackson was still knocked out, Doctor Park explain to Mark that the cancer not only grew, but had spread much faster than even he would have imagined. Jackson’s cancer was now fatal. He had months to live, if even that. 

Mark’s sleeping brain seemed to decide to do him a favor and fast forward through the three months Mark had spent by his best friend’s side, the nights he spent crying his heart out, all the pain that watching Jackson slowly die. His last conversation with the younger though, that played out at normal speed.

Jackson was paler now and he laughed less, since it would send him into a coughing jag. One thing that never changed was his bright and kind spirit. Even as things were looking worse, Jackson would always manage to make Mark smile or laugh. The younger seemed to find it more important to keep Mark from crying than his own health. Their other friends had visited earlier that day to see Jackson as they did every Tuesday after they got done with classes. Now it was just the two of them, sitting in a comfortable silence before Jackson spoke up, asking Mark if he thought there was anything to look forward to after he died. Jackson never brought up topics like this, it’s like he knew death was coming for him that night. 

“I don’t really know if there’s anything like heaven or hell, but I believe in ghosts. You might just become a spirit if you have unfinished business,” Mark said sadly. Every word he spoke over the last week had been tinged with sadness.

Jackson smiled, “If that’s true, I’ll haunt you. You can’t get rid of me this easily”. Mark chuckled and took Jackson’s hand in his to give it a squeeze.

“You look tired, get some rest. I’ll be here when you wake up.” 

“Okay Markie,” Jackson said as he drifted off to sleep for the last time. 

That’s when Mark awoke with a start, finally able to break himself out of that nightmare. His heart was beating out of his chest, breathing so shallow he couldn’t seem to catch his breath. His blood felt like ice running through his veins. Mark wished he just had a morbidly overactive imagination, but it was all real. Jackson passed away 2 months, 1 week, and 4 days ago, but Mark still felt like it was yesterday. The pain was all fresh and he couldn’t cope with it. Everything in his room, everything in his life, was tied to Jackson. The half-deflated dirty basketball in the corner belonged to five-year-old Jackson, it was the one he was chasing after when he saved six-year-old Mark from a group of bullies. The small golden cross necklace he always wore around his neck had belonged to Jackson’s mother, it was a family heirloom. After she passed, Jackson gave it to him as a sixteenth birthday present. He said that if anyone was worthy of wearing that necklace his mother loved so much, it would be Mark. Their matching friendship bracelets Mark had made them for Jackson’s 8th birthday on the post of his bed frame. All of Jackson’s belongings were left to him as well. As if all of the things he owned that could remind him of his late friend weren’t enough. Jackson’s father couldn’t even have been bothered to clean out his own son’s apartment so it was left to Mark, as was everything else involving Jackson. He couldn’t bear to throw out all of his things so Mark’s one bedroom apartment was fully decorated with Jackson’s many fencing trophies and gear. All the photos Jackson had framed of them throughout the years, his family, and their current friend group occupied his bookshelf. Even his closet was half-filled with Jackson’s clothes. Some of which still smelled like him. The two of them grew up together and had been inseparable. Jackson had been loud and talkative, a classic extrovert. Mark was always more quiet and timid. Their personalities complimented each other perfectly and they balanced each other out. 

As Mark regained his senses, he slowly got up off the stiff sofa he’d passed out on and slowly made his way to his room to get dressed. He pulled on a pair of black skinny jeans and one of Jackson’s hoodies, which hung off of Mark’s thinner frame. They always had been a size or two bigger on him, but even more so now that Mark barely ate. He continued his morning as he had every day for the last few months. After getting dressed he would wash his face, eat something light if he could manage, take the prescription that was supposed to help him get better, and then leave to go to the cemetery to visit Jackson. On his way, he always picked up two fresh flowers, a light blue rose and a gardenia. He took care of Jackson’s grave meticulously; wilting flowers were removed and if it were going to rain he’d set up an umbrella to cover the headstone. Jackson never enjoyed the rain. 

As he walked through the streets on his way home he saw a streak of blonde hair run past him. It was the same unnaturally platinum blonde Jackson had bleached his hair to before he fell ill. He tried to chase after the blur, but it had disappeared by the time he got over the shock. Great, Mark thought, now I’m hallucinating.

Once he was back in the comfort of his apartment, he turned on the television even though he knew he wasn’t going to watch it. The background noise was comforting, so he wasn’t just sitting in silence alone. He looked over at his kitchen counter and saw the bottle of anti-depressants. They were calling to him so he got up and went to see what they wanted to tell him. He removed the cap and looked at the pills, he could almost hear Jackson’s voice begging him not to do it. Mark knew better, he did, but he just felt so alone. Nothing mattered now that Jackson was gone. What was the point of staying here and living miserably? Those thoughts ran through his head as he filled a glass at the sink.

He poured a handful of pills out into his palm and put them in his mouth, throwing his head back as he guzzled the water down to swallow them all. Then he waited. Mark was beginning to realize this would not be an instant death. Rather than sit and patiently wait his death out he stumbled over to one of his cupboards and found what he was looking for quickly. The pain meds Jackson had been prescribed back before he had to be permanently admitted to the hospital. He took a few of those as well and carefully put the bottle back in its place. 

Mark’s vision started to blur and his legs couldn’t support him any longer. He collapsed to the tiled kitchen floor, but before he went fully numb he heard sobbing. Finally, was Mark’s last thought. Or so he wished. Mark woke up on the kitchen floor a full day later, covered in his own vomit. His jaw was sore, like someone had forced his mouth open to shove their fingers down his throat and save him from himself. His hair was brushed back in the way Jackson used to do it when he played with it. To say Mark was surprised would be an understatement. He was positive that if he was unfortunate enough for one of his friends to make an unexpected visit and find him in time to save him he’d be waking up in the hospital with an IV stuck in him.

But finding himself on his kitchen floor again, it honestly confused him. Part of him wanted to believe Jackson had saved him. That ghosts were real like he had told Jackson and Jackson was still with him, protecting him. But a more pessimistic and rational voice said it was just a coincidence. Many people would view this experience as a second chance. That it was a sign Mark should turn his life around and start to move on. That’s not how Mark saw it, this was just a mistake, an accidental survival. He was just unlucky this time. He thought about trying again right then when he heard his phone ringing. It was Youngjae’s ringtone, he couldn’t just ignore it. If he didn’t pick up Youngjae would just come over to check in on him.

The moment he answered the phone he could hear Youngjae’s bright, loud voice, “Mark, how are you doing?”

“Same old, same old,” Mark replied, his voice emotionless.

“You should come out and do something, staying at home and only going out to go to the cemetery isn’t healthy.”

“I just don’t feel up to it, you know how it is. Everything reminds me of him, everything hurts.”

Youngjae sighed into the receiver, “I know Mark, but it’s been like three months. Look, I’m sorry. I just wish there was something I could do to help you. I know this is hard on you, it’s been hard on all of us. Jackson was a great guy.”

Mark felt the tears forming as he nodded, “Yeah, well I’ll be going now. I woke up late so I need to hurry to make it to the flower shop before they close.”

“Wait, wait, wait. I know you don’t want to go out and do something. How about I just bring some food over and we have lunch at your place?” Youngjae offered.

Mark wished he could just say no, he really did. He wished he had just died, even if it means sweet Youngjae would have been the one to find him. “That sounds great Youngjae. How about Saturday?” Youngjae agreed and let Mark hang up so he could start his daily routine. 

Over the next few days, Mark continued as normal. Or as normal as his broken life could allow. On his way back from the cemetery on Saturday morning he saw a man standing under a tree when a bird pooped on him. He almost managed a laugh because the man’s reaction was so animated, when he heard Jackson’s laugh. He was sure of it, Jackson’s laugh was so distinct, obnoxiously loud and high pitched. He looked all around, eyes darting to everything in sight, not exactly sure what he was hoping to find. Mark decided he had finally lost his mind completely.

He rushed home in tears, all his thoughts were on Jackson. He couldn’t take it anymore, he missed the other so much. He missed being able to laugh and smile. He missed feeling important to someone. No matter how many people were in their circle of friends, regardless of how many of their friends were also loud and funny. Jackson always made Mark feel special. He always knew if Mark had something he wanted to say and he’d make sure Mark was heard if he wanted to be. All of the friends that stuck around for him and took turns checking up on him were all friends made by Jackson. Mark was always the side dish to the main course that was Jackson Wang. This time he was sure he couldn’t take it anymore, if he hallucinated Jackson again he was sure he would lose it. He took the pills again, just as he had last time, but this time he ran to the bathroom and grabbed a razor blade. 

As the pills started to take effect, he became dizzy. He sat down on the hardwood floor of his living room and looked at the picture of himself and Jackson from their high school graduation. It was a candid shot Mark’s mother had taken. Both boys were smiling, but Jackson’s eyes were filled with tears. Mark takes a moment to remember how hard it was on Jackson to know his mom never got to see him in his cap and gown before he makes the first deep cut across his wrist. He watched the blood stream down his arm. One wouldn’t be enough so he made more and more increasingly deep cuts into his arms until the blood pooled around him. Mark slumped over as it became harder to hold his body up. There was a loud ringing in his ears as his vision grew spotted, but he still managed to hear his front door unlocking.

“Mark, you didn’t reply to my texts,” Youngjae called into the silent apartment, “so I just let myself- Oh my God Mark!” Youngjae heard a sickening thud as he watched Mark’s head hit the floor. He called for paramedics, hoping he wasn’t too late.

It was hard to breathe, that was the first thing Mark noticed. It felt like he was drowning. Then the mumbled noises he was hearing started to clear into voices. He tried to concentrate on what they were saying, but still couldn’t quite make out the words. He didn’t know what was going on and he tried to remember what happened, but it just gave him a headache. Eventually, as the confusion lessened, Mark realized that he was in the hospital. He felt the needles poking into his veins as he slowly opened his eyes. It took a moment to adjust to the brightness of the room, before he could actually look around.

He saw Youngjae sitting there with his parents. He could tell they had been crying. It seemed they hadn’t noticed he was awake yet. He wanted to say something, but his throat was so dry and felt so raw he couldn’t force a sound out. 

“We knew this all hurt Mark,” his mother said, wiping her puffy eyes with a tissue, “but I didn’t realize it was this bad.”

Youngjae nodded, “Mark and Jackson were close, inseparable even.”

“It’s been three months since the funeral though. We’ve called a few times and he seemed to be okay. I mean he was obviously he wasn’t the same, but I never imagined he’d do something like this,” His mother replied.

“This isn’t healthy,” Mark’s father interjected, “He needs to get help. Clearly, we failed to teach Mark how to cope with something like this. He needs to go to some kind of institution or rehab facility!”

Mark’s eyes grew wide and tears formed as panic set in. His heart felt constricted. If they sent him away he’d be too far from Jackson. He couldn’t do that, he didn’t think he could handle it. He didn’t know how long he’d been in the hospital, but he knew it must have been a few days at least. Jackson’s grave probably had wilted flowers around it. A sob racked his body as he pulled the IV out of his arm and the rest of the cords attached to his body along with it. Alarms went off as he did so; it caught his parents and Youngjae’s attention. Mark stumbled out of the bed and tried to walk out of the room. His father stopped him.

“Mark, what are you doing?” He asked as he tried to force his son back into the bed.

Mark struggled with his father, screaming, but his thin frame was too weak to push the latter off. “I have to go. Jackson, I have to stay, the flowers,” Mark cried. He knew he wasn’t making sense. The words came out mumbled and it was all but unintelligible through his screams and tears. 

Hospital staff heard the commotion in the room and hurried in, “Mr. Tuan, please calm down,” one orderly said as calmly as they could manage, “If you don’t calm down we’ll have to sedate you.” This caused Mark to stop struggling. He knew if he had to be sedated he would have no chance at going back to his apartment. He’d be sent away for sure and they’d keep him far from Jackson. He was panicking though and he couldn’t calm himself down. He managed keep himself in the bed, but he was twitching, unable to fully control his limbs. 

Mark looked around the room and saw the shocked faces of his parents and Youngjae. Even the nurses and orderlies seemed unsure of his mental stability. He was sure all hope was lost until he heard an unsure voice speak up, “Mark? Mark, is that you?”  
Mark could barely believe his eyes when he saw Jaebeom. It had been at least ten years since he’d seen the other, but he knew it was him from the number of earrings he wore and the two small moles just below his left eyebrow. Jaebeom had been a youth counselor at the camp Mark and Jackson had gone to the summer before they started junior high. He knew Jaebeom had said he was thinking about majoring in psychology back then, but he never thought he’d ever see him again to find out what path he’d chosen. 

“Can I have a moment alone with Mark?” Jaebeom asked, first looking to his colleagues and then to Mark’s visitors. Mark’s mother nodded and pulled on her husband’s arm as she walked out of the room, Youngjae followed. Seeing the patient’s parents had no issue with it the hospital staff left after reattaching the monitors and IV to Mark’s arms. Jaebeom settled himself down into the chair beside Mark’s bed and pulled out a black leather notepad and a gleaming silver pen. “Mark,” he began, “what happened?”

It was a very vague question. He could have started with a hello, but it was straight to business. “Nothing’s right anymore Jaebeom. I can’t do it any more, why couldn’t they just let me die?”

“Mark,” he replied, “I can’t help you if you don’t tell me what happened. How did you get like this?”

Mark didn’t answer for a moment, choosing his words carefully. Jaebeom could be the deciding factor in if he was sent away or not. “Jackson, he,” Mark started, “he passed away a few months ago. Cancer.” He hated talking about it. Even now, having to say it aloud made it too real.

“I’m so sorry Mark. Even back then I knew you two were close. This has been hard on you, hasn’t it?”

Mark nodded and rubbed his eyes, trying to prevent more tears from falling, “I tried killing myself, that’s why I’m here. My parents, they want to send me away to get help, but,” Mark took a measured breath as he chose his words carefully, “but I don’t think I could stand being that far from him.”

Jaebeom nodded solemnly. He knew he shouldn’t do this, Mark really should have been sent somewhere with grief specialists. Mark needed to get away from this world he created for himself or he would always be codependent on Jackson. But he could see how much this was hurting Mark. He thought back to how the two boys had been when he first met them. Inseparable didn’t even begin to describe it. 

Before he could stop himself, the words were leaving his mouth, “Okay Mark, how about this? If I can persuade your parents to not send you away, you’ll have to come to sessions with me. You definitely need to see someone and I’m sure you’re aware of that, but I’ll do my best to help you stay here.” Mark’s eye grew wide. He almost couldn’t believe the words he was hearing. He really didn’t think Jaebeom would side with him on this. He nodded quickly and reached out to hug Jaebeom in thanks.

So that’s how he found himself a week later sitting at Jackson’s grave with a large bouquet of blue roses and gardenias to make up for all the days he’d missed while in the hospital. He sat in front of the headstone and reached out to run his fingers across Jackson’s name. “Jacks, I still can’t believe Jaebeom became a therapist. I’m supposed to have my first session with him this afternoon, I don’t know what exactly to expect.” He knew Jackson would say something like not to be nervous, that Mark needed to get better. He knew Jackson would have never wanted to see him like this, would have never wanted Mark to end up like this. “I know Jackson,” Mark replied, as if those things had actually been said by the headstone, “But I can’t help it, I don’t know what to do anymore. You always told me we’d be friends forever, that we would always be close. But you,” the words died on Mark’s tongue. “I’m gonna get going now. I’ll see you tomorrow Jackson,” Mark said adjusting the flowers one last time before getting up and heading home. 

His walk home was uneventful, but he couldn’t shake the feeling of being followed. Once he was inside his home he looked around. His mother had scrubbed his blood off the wood floor, but he could still spot a small browning stain on the front of the couch. The whole room still reeked of bleach and Mark hated it. He couldn’t stand to be there anymore as it reminded him of how close he had been to ending it all, in the back of his mind he still wished he had. 

Rather than staying there, he headed to Jaebeom’s office. He knew he would be early, but it was the better option. The waiting room was decorated to look inviting. It had a faux fireplace and two leather sofas that faced each other. Mark sat down and thought about what Jaebeom would probably ask about. He tried to prepare himself to be ready to talk about Jackson and his death. Maybe he’d ask about his reoccurring nightmare or why he needed to visit Jackson everyday like clockwork. There were so many different ways the subject could be broached. While Mark worried about what the therapy session would entail time passed and before he realized it the receptionist was leading him into Jaebeom’s office.

Jaebeom greeted Mark as he awkwardly took a seat on the couch opposite him, unsure if he was supposed to lay down or not. “So, Mark, what did you want to start with today?” Jaebeom asked as he glanced at him over the rim of his glasses.

Mark didn’t really know where to begin or that he wanted to. He was never really good with words. After a solid five minutes of silence Jaebeom nodded and got up. He walked over to his desk with a chuckle, “I suppose you were never the outspoken one, we’re you? It’s okay if you don’t want to say anything right now Mark. I understand, but you have to communicate with me if I’m ever going to be able to help you work through this.” He returned to his previous seat with a composition book. He put it on the dark stained oak coffee table that separated them. “I’d like you to write your thoughts in here. Whatever you’re feeling, good or bad. You can even just talk about what you had for lunch,” Jaebeom said with a calming smile. He was really trying his best to accommodate Mark, but he could still see the uneasiness in Mark’s eyes. “How about this,” Jaebeom tried, “you go see a movie tonight and just write about how it was? You can come in tomorrow and we’ll go over what you wrote.”

Mark accepted the idea and grabbed the notebook. He really just wanted to do anything to get out of that office. Just sitting there made him feel uncomfortable. He really only ever opened up to Jackson. It just didn’t feel right to talk to someone else about the only person he ever felt truly comfortable with. So, he left the office with the notebook tucked under his arm and made his way to the cinema to see what was playing. When he stepped up to the box office he asked the worker to give him one for whatever movie had the least ticket sales, Mark really didn’t feel up to sitting in a room full of people.

He sat down in the back row of the theater, far away from an older man sitting in the middle and a young couple who couldn’t keep their hands off of each other towards the front. He stared at them until the lights dimmed moments later and creepy music started playing. The movie turned out to be one of those horror films with a cheap plot that was too overdone and only a few decent jump scares. An unsuspecting family moves into an old house and the teenage son finds a Ouija board in the attic and uses it. However, it gave Mark an idea and he’s actually amazed the thought hadn’t crossed his mind sooner. When he left the theater, he headed to an old bookstore where he remembered he’d seen Ouija boards for sale a few years back when he had gone in with Jackson to buy a book for his English class, hoping they still sold them.

It seemed like today was his lucky day. The store was about to close for the night. But the cashier let him in after he had begged her, saying he just needed to get one thing. He promised he wouldn’t be long. He found the Ouija board easily in the board game section of the store, he was in and out in less than three minutes. On his way home, he stopped at a corner store and bought a few bottles of soju. He downed one on his way back to his apartment. He ripped the box open as soon as he was inside, the buzz from the alcohol making the smell of bleach easier to ignore. He went to the kitchen and pulled out a little tea light and matches he had in case the power ever went out. They lit a candle in the movie so he figured he might as well. 

Mark opened another bottle of soju and checked the time, realizing he was late taking his medications. He drunkenly hobbled over to the counter and poured the day’s set of pills into his hand. He wasn’t allowed to keep the full bottles of pills anymore after the overdose so Youngjae had agreed to hold onto them and come over every week to fill his seven-day pill container once a week. He poured his new antidepressant, sleeping pill, and a pill for anxiety into his palm and downed it with his soju. 

He sat down next to his notebook that lay forgotten on the floor and continued drinking as he lit the candle. He set up the board like the directions stated. Mark was pretty sure one of the rules he skimmed over was to never play alone, but he didn’t give it any mind. He wasn’t even sure anything would happen anyway. He places two fingers on the planchette and calls out into the empty room, “Is there anyone here?”  
He feels the planchette move itself to the yes. “Who are you?” Mark asks.

The planchette moves across the board quickly and Mark has trouble keeping up with how fast the spirit is spelling out words, but is able to make out: "Markiepooh, why are you so broken now?" 

He knows it’s Jackson. Jackson gave him that nickname, he was the only person Mark allowed to use such a ridiculous term of endearment. Mark feels the tears slide down his cheeks. “How have you been Jackson,” he asks, ignoring Jackson’s question, “how’s death?” Jackson started moving the planchette quickly around the board again. Even in death he was a fast talker. “Jacks, I can’t read that fast. You need to slow down.” Mark said. He swore he could hear a sigh before the notebook next to him suddenly flipped open and Jackson’s messy handwriting appeared on the page and Mark read the words aloud: "It’s lonely. You were right back then, when I asked you what was after death. I can see everything, and everyone. I’ve gone to check up on my Dad, he’s doing okay I guess. He’s the same as when Mommy died. I’ve been here with you mostly though. I’ve asked others why I’m still here, they say it wasn’t my time Markie. That’s why I can’t rest. It wasn’t my time, but I was taken away."

“I’m sorry Jackson,” Mark says. He knew that if Jackson was with him all this time he watched him suffer. That was his worst fear. Jackson shouldn’t have had to see that, the mess he’d become, all the time he spent crying and when he’d hurt himself. 

Jackson takes a moment to scold Mark for his first attempted suicide. Explaining that if he hadn’t been here Mark would have actually died and he didn’t really want that. “I did though,” Mark replied softly, “I still do. I don’t feel lucky to be alive.”

A book flies off the shelf and smashes into the wall on the other side of the room, an angry ‘why not?’ is scrawled onto the page. Mark struggles to take a deep breath for a moment before his walls break.

“Why not?” Mark asks, “Because everything I do feels empty, like I’m just going through the motions. I don’t enjoy anything the way I did when you were still alive. My life isn’t worth living without you!” His brain was a mess of thoughts. The words were spilling out of his mouth before he could filter them, “You’ve been by my side since I was six for God’s sakes. You’re the only person I’ve ever opened up to, the only one I feel comfortable with. I’m in love with you for crying out loud!”

Mark grows nervous as a minute passes and no words appear on the paper. “Jackson?” He calls out unsurely. Through the silence, he could hear a distant sobbing, it sounded like it could have been coming from a different room, but the hiccuping between deep breaths Mark could recognize distinctly as Jackson. It’s a pained cry he’d only heard three times in all the years he’d known Jackson. The first was when Mark had broken his leg falling off the roof while getting Jackson’s puppy, Marker, down after it had ran out his open window. The second was after his mother passed away seven years ago, and the last was after he and Jackson had gone home after they found out the cancer had spread. That all Jackson could hope for was to die in his sleep so death might be less painful.

Mark knew Jackson was crying and he felt helpless. There was no way to comfort him the way he had in the past because he was a spirit, invisible to the eye. He couldn’t hold the younger boy in his arms and let his shirt get soaked in Jackson’s salty tears, he couldn’t tell him everything would be okay. He couldn’t brush the hair away from his eyes and apologize. He could only listen as Jackson cried himself hoarse. As the sound died down the candle Mark had lit was blown out leaving him in darkness, the only light source was the pale moonlight filtering in through the window. He stayed unmoving for a few moments, letting the pain sink in a little more before getting up and turning on a lamp. Mark felt disconnected with his body, his movements were sluggish. When he returned to his seat he collapsed to the ground and saw a new message written: I wish you’d have said something sooner. We could have been happy, even if just for a little while.

A single tear fell from his eyes as the meaning of what Jackson wrote sunk in. “You’re not going to leave me, are you?” Mark asked the empty room. He was almost afraid to hear the answer. His head felt heavy so he leaned more onto the table as another message was written on the paper: "I could never, especially not now. I’ll stay as long as you do. "


End file.
